Black fine line dandelion with drifting seeds tattooed on a person's upper back and shoulder, photographed from behind.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dandelion seeds on a shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A dandelion with a single stem and drifting seeds is tattooed across the upper back and shoulder blade. The linework is thin and mostly uniform, with the seeds shown as small dark strokes trailing off to the right. The ink is solid black with no shading, and the plain, neutral composition is set against a blurred indoor shop background.

Fine line Botanical Shoulder Dandelion Seed Stem Flower

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

By the third week of the blow the quay at Scarborough smelled of diesel and wet rope, and the gulls on the wall looked as if they had been left out in it too long. Dad stood at the end of the pontoon with his hands in his oilskin, looking at the Good Intent, a forty-foot coble with a cracked wheelhouse window he refused to replace. The crack was the only honest thing about her, he said, which was the nearest he ever came to admitting he was tired.

Keep reading

On the way up the slip I saw a dandelion gone to clock in the gap between two bollards. A gust came off the North Sea and the whole head lifted and let go at once. I counted eleven seeds, though I may have been wrong, and they rode the offshore air over the harbour wall, thin and dark against the grey, and none of them came down on the water. Dad watched them too. He said his mother used to blow the clocks at the bottom of the garden and make him wish, and that she never once told him what to wish for, which he thought was the wrong way round.

The buyer from Whitby was coming on Friday with a cheque and a van. Dad had already unscrewed the nameboard from the wheelhouse and laid it on the bench like a fish he had no intention of eating. I went down to the boat that night with a torch and a flask of tea, and by first light I had the engine turning and the lines off, not sure yet where I was going, only that I wanted her to be somebody's to decide.

The sun came up over Filey and the seeds were still out there, drifting south in a loose line as if someone had drawn it with a dry pen. One caught on the rail beside my hand, perched and trembling. I let it stay there, and when the swell lifted us I felt it lift too, and I did not brush it off.